


The Chill in the Wind

by PearCider



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Light Angst, NaNoWriMo 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearCider/pseuds/PearCider
Summary: It has been a few weeks since the Raven's defeat but life doesn't seem to be going the way it should for our two heroes. After the sudden appearance of a mysterious forest that never seems to end and an unforseen consequence of the battle with the Raven comes to light, Duck and Fakir are dragged headlong into another story. Will they finally get the happy ending that they deserve? My NaNoWriMo project for this year!
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu), Mytho/Rue (Princess Tutu)
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time there was a man who lived in a beautiful cottage. He lived on his own, but he was happy because he liked being on his own. Every morning he would get up early and watch the sun rise, and every night he would stay up late and watch the stars shift across the night sky. He lived a simple and beautiful life all on his own and was proud of it.

One night as the man watched Orion sink beyond the horizon, he heard a strange noise from behind the house.

"I wonder what that was?" thought the man.

As he thought the noise came again, except much louder. As fast as his two feet could carry him, he ran to the source.

Lying in a mess of blood-stained feathers was a young duck with a red marking on its breast. It tried to stand but fell. The man, moved by this pitiful sight brought the bird inside and set it beside the fire to warm, for it was a fierce and frosty night. He bandaged its wounds and set its broken wing.

For the next few days, the man's attention was set upon the duck. It slept in a basket beside his bed and ate from the table. When it was in pain, he sang though his voice was hoarse from disuse. Soon he became accustomed to the company.

Then one day, the duck's wounds had completely healed, and it was time for her to be set free. It was a clear day and the sun cast a golden glow upon the world. A light breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees and sang softly around the walls of the house. The man gently carried the duck outside and set her upon the ground. Without a look back, the duck took to the air and flew over the treetops, not leaving so much as a feather behind.

The man tried to return to the way his life was before the duck. But it no longer felt right. He found he missed having someone to sing the songs his father had sung to him, someone to sit beside him in silence, to enjoy the sunset with. When he sat to eat he found the food bland and tasteless without someone to share it with and when he went to bed he missed the comfort of knowing that there was someone beside him to see in the morning.

The chores that the man once felt satisfying now felt dull and the man found himself yearning for a friend to share his days with. Now he was not just alone, but he was lonely.

"How can I live without anyone to live for?" Said the man as he drifted off to sleep.

A/N Hi! This fic is not going to be brilliant or original in any sense of the word. It's a first draft that I am completing for NaNoWriMo this year, I thought that uploading it might help me stick to writing on a schedule. I hope you enjoy it anyway if you decide to keep reading and pile on the criticism please. I love to write, but I'm not great at it so anything to help me improve would be really appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

In this world there are many mysteries that we will never know the answers to, and many stories with no end. Such is the way of the world. Most mysteries have more than one answer and no true story ever has an end. But with my pen and paper, I will now humbly attempt to answer a mystery and give this tale a satisfying end. I have no talent for such things, as I am no writer, but this needs to be told and I hope that one day it shall reach someone who is in need of it.

Just as no story has an end, none have a beginning, but even so I will try my best to start somewhere.

It all began one day in a small corner of southern Germany called Gold Crown Town. It was not a particularly big town, nor particularly rich, but to the few that lived there it was a beautiful and magical home. The two most notable things about this town was the school of Arts Gold Cr own Academy that taught a few hundred students how to dance and sing and paint. The other was the location of the town itself, said to be built in a crater caused by a huge meteorite millions of years ago. If you had asked any of the writing students they would tell you that each of the buildings was filled with thousands of tiny diamonds and when a light was shone on them in the dark, each building would light up like the night sky of stars.

In a far corner of the town amongst the trees in the shadow of the school was a small lake. It wasn't particularly notable and not many people even knew about it. Most people felt uneasy near it for some strange reason they couldn't quite put their finger on, so they normally avoided it. There was one exception to this rule, a young man called Fakir. There was hardly a day that would pass wherein the writer would not pay at least one visit to the lake and it's singular inhabitant.

On this particular day Fakir sat upon a deck chair upon a pier on the lake. One hand brushed though his long black hair and the other held a pen. Upon his lap sat a notebook, the pages scribbled all over in an illegible scrawl. He sighed, set the pen down, closed the book and looked up.

Swimming lazily on the lake's surface was a single yellow duckling. The pond was strangely devoid of any other birds. Strange because if you had asked an expert, they would have said the pond was a perfect place for a wide variety of birds to live. The air was fresh and crisp and a quick look in the water would confirm that there was abundance of freshwater fish. They would have also said that the duckling was far to young to be without parents and siblings with her, yet there she swam all alone.

The duck looked up and noticed that the man was watching her. She happily quacked and swam over to him. With great difficulty she flapped up to the pier and stood beside him. She quacked again and with a smile Fakir picked her up.

"I just can't figure out how this story should end. This girl deserves a happy ending, but I don't know how to lead her to it." Said Fakir.

The duck said nothing but looked up at him as if to encourage him.

"Idiot, I know I'll figure it out. I wish I could have some feedback though."

He sighed a deep sigh and scratched the back of his head with one hand.

"What if the mother comes back? Do you think that would solve my problem Duck?"

The aptly named bird blinked blankly up at him and then flapped from his lap onto the ground and settled down beside him.

"Are you feeling okay Duck?" asked the writer, a hint of worry in his voice.

The duck looked up at him, but there was no sign of comprehension in her deep blue eyes. This was not right. The Duck he knew would usually be chattering away at him, trying her absolute best to help him guide the citizens of Golden Crown away from Drosselmeyer's influence, even if they both knew he could not understand her, but up until now the incomprehension only went one way. Was something wrong with her? If so what?

"Duck, I need you to listen to me. Quack once if you can understand what I'm saying to you."

Duck looked up at him sadly, but let out no noise.

"Idiot! Answer me!"

At this the duck let out a fearful set of quacks and flapped as fast as she could into the water where she began to swim to the other side of the lake as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Duck! No! Come back!" he cried out, but this just sent her faster into the tangle of reeds inaccessible to anyone but her.

Fakir's hands began to tremble and a terrible feeling of fear crawled up his back. The notebook lay on the ground forgotten, having fallen when he stood up.

A terrible thought entered his mind. When was the last time she answered back? Was it more than a week ago? Two weeks? He had not been able to visit for a few days last month due to his final exams at the Academy, had she answered back since then, or had he just not noticed? She had become much more quiet recently, how had he not realised that something was up?

"No," thought Fakir, "I would have definitely noticed that something was wrong, if indeed something was wrong. She can definitely still understand me. I must have just said something to get her worked up. I'll apologise tomorrow."

As Fakir picked up his equipment, the duck peered out at him through the reeds, shrinking back when he looked back at the lake before walking away. She sighed and made herself cosy upon the bank. She sat there for a while and thought about what she was going to do the next day. She would wake up late in the morning most likely and then spend a few hours hunting for fish and pondweed. Next in line probably a few hours practicing flying. She couldn't quite make it off the ground yet, but she thought she could almost feel some lift when she flapped really hard. After that…

She sighed a small sigh. All being well Fakir would come and visit her again, and perhaps she would have some bread for her tea. Somehow she doubted that though. Something had gone wrong today with him, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out what. It was all going so well up until the end when he got so angry all of a sudden. Duck wondered what was wrong with him. Perhaps he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and had been bottling it all up until the end of the day?

"Oh well," she thought, "I'll see him tomorrow anyway and I'm sure he'll be better by then."

As the sun sank beyond the walls of the town, sending the lake into darkness, Duck drifted to sleep, allowing it to embrace her in it's soft misty arms and carry her away.

Fakir arrived at Charon's house late that night. He had spent the rest of the day wandering listlessly through town, unable to find the motivation to work at his stories or get any chores done, yet uneager to return to the quiet house. Charon was out of town, delivering a large commission to some aristocrat who could afford good quality black smithing instead of the lesser quality products from the many factories that has begun to appear recently.

He unlocked the front door and stepped into the house. It was unusually cold. Charon usually had the fire lit by this time of night and dinner was normally long over. Fakir slowly made his way into the kitchen, lighting the lamps as he went. It was not pleasant staying in a dark house. The shadows made even the cosiest and most welcoming rooms strange and unfamiliar.

He had not had anything to eat since breakfast, and thanks to his earlier encounter with Duck had very little appetite. Even so, he cut a slice of the sour dough he had bought yesterday, the bread making a satisfying crunch sound as he sliced through the thick crust. He needed to eat or he wouldn't be able to write tomorrow. He needed to get this story finished before too long. Preferably in the next week. That was the issue with his line of work, when writing true stories, one worked on a strict deadline. He would not become another Drosselmeyer, controlling people's lives and leading them down a dark path of despair.

As he chewed on his bread, his mind drifted back to Duck. It had been months since he had last seen her as a girl, running off to face an unimaginable evil and the loss of her freedom. She had been so brave. He remembered being able to feel through his writing how hard her heart was pounding, how her whole body shook as she ran to Mythos side and gave it all up to bring everyone the happy ending she believed with all her heart she deserved.

He had not noticed until those last few minutes how beautiful she was. That was one of his biggest regrets. He had treated her so unkindly when they first met, when all she ever wanted to do was to help people, even at great cost to herself. His heart grew heavy when he thought of those first few meetings. How could he have treated her that way? He used to hate seeing her and actively avoid her when she came near, but now he would give anything to see her red hair and hear her talk with her adorable voice and be able to confirm that she was actually okay and get feed back on his writing.

The unease returned. Had she ever truly understood him after the story ended? Had she ever truly answered back when he spoke to him, or was she just reacting to his tone and body language? Surely not? Surely she was just as much Duck as ever?

The thought was too disturbing to be true. The tale ended happily hadn't it, with all the characters returning to what they were before the story had begum? But what did that mean for a duck?

Fakir stood up suddenly.

"I need some sleep" he declared to the empty room.

He snuffed the light quickly and made his way upstairs, got into bed and tried his best to get to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning came quickly and Fakir woke as the bell cried out for 8 o'clock. He had work to do today, but first he wanted to check up on Duck. Grabbing the remainder of the bread from last night and slinging on his coat behind him, he ran out the door and to the lake .

When he got there Duck was waiting for him at the pier. When she saw the bread she released a caterwaul of excited quacking.

"Thank goodness" he whispered to himself while she was distracted by the bread.

"At least her appetite's not suffering."

He sat down with his legs hanging of the side of the pier while he waited for her to finish. It was quite a beautiful day, the sun was shining down and there was not a cloud in the deep blue sky, yet if he paid attention, Fakir could feel a faint chill in the wind, a sure sign that the pleasant autumn weather would not last for long. The trees were beginning to look threadbare when you looked past the changing leaves. Summer felt so far away, yet at the same time like it was only yesterday.

Fakir was dragged from his chain of thought as a small yellow figure sat down beside him.

"Did you enjoy the bread?" Fakir asked.

Duck quacked with satisfaction in response.

Fakir smiled, "That's great, I'm glad you liked it."

The two sat in silence for a little while, sitting together and watching the leaves slowly fall from the trees. If someone had happened to walk past, they would have looked like an odd pair, but of course no one did and they were completely free to enjoy one another's company.

Too soon the bell rang again and it was time for Fakir to move on.

"I've got work to do," said Fakir, "Charon asked me to fulfil some orders while he was away, so I'll be heading off. You know where to find me if you need anything."

To Fakir's relief, Duck nodded in response.

As he stood up, he couldn't help but smile to himself. It was good to have confirmation that his fears that she couldn't understand him were unfounded, at least at the moment.

"Bye then."

Duck sat on the pier watching Fakir walk off. As soon as he was out of sight she let out a huge sigh. It seemed like that was all she did anymore, watch him go and come back again.

"I wish I could do more," she thought to herself, "He's seemed so sad recently. He won't show it, but his eyes are so lonely."

She sat there another minute thinking this over before deciding to take a swim. Swimming always seemed to help her gather her thoughts together. For some reason, she was finding it much harder to think about certain things recently. It was almost like a fog had settled over her mind, becoming thicker when she tried to think of things to do with her past, Fakir or what the future might hold. Because of this she had subconsciously chosen to think of more useful things, like what sort of bread Fakir may bring next, or the interesting bugs that made their home around the lake. Most of her time in fact was spent sleeping now. It seemed like there was literally nothing else to do.

Life quickly fell back into the rhythm that the pair had gotten used to over the last few months. In the morning Fakir would come and visit Duck, staying normally for around an hour, purely focusing on writing his stories, while Duck ate the roll that he always brought for her. When the bell tolled the hour, he would say farewell and go about the various errands that needed to be completed and then in the evening return home to help Charon who had now returned with the various commissions that had been ordered. Duck would swim around the lake and practice flapping her wings for most of the day, before settling down in the reeds and bullrushes as the night set in.

As the days went by, Duck felt her wings growing stronger and stronger, and Fakir began to notice balding patches where her new feathers were beginning to grow in. At first he had been a little concerned about it, but once he realised that she was merely moulting he settled down again.

"I'll not bring it up to her," he thought, "She'll just be embarrassed. I don't think the idiot has even noticed it yet."

Indeed Duck hadn't noticed, but when the bright white feathers did begin to grow in she could feel the lift generated by her enthusiastic flapping. But something felt… off. She found that her left wing wouldn't fully extend without a jolt of pain flying up her bones causing the force created by the downward flaps to become uneven, throwing the bird off her balance. As the days went on and her primary feathers began to grow in, some of them stuck out at odd angles that would not be apparent if you weren't looking for issues. Duck did her best to ignore this, and focused on how great it would be to be able to soar above the town, seeing the familiar surroundings from a bird's eye view as it were. It couldn't be quite as great as ballet, but she figured that she never had any talent for dancing as it wasn't as instinctive for ducks in the same way it was for humans. Perhaps she could excel in flying, and who knows? Maybe she would be able to find satisfaction in that?

The nights came and went, and each morning following grew colder and colder. She began to feel more and more restless, as if something deep inside her was calling out to her, begging her to do something. Each day to try and nullify this calling, she ventured further and further away from the lake, something she had not dared to do since the Raven had been defeated. The forest surrounding the lake was a lot bigger than she had remembered, almost impossibly so.

"Maybe it's because I was so much bigger as a girl and that's why it seems so much bigger," she thought to herself as she fought her way through the undergrowth.

But that explanation didn't seem to sit quite right with her. No other part of town seemed to have grown so much as the forest.

"Perhaps it's the fog! Maybe that's why I keep getting lost!"

It was true that on the coldest mornings a thick fog drew up from the earth sweltering the forest in a thick, wet blanket, but if anything, that seemed like a side effect rather than the cause.

The vast size of the forest scared her, but no matter how far she wondered in, the voice inside her was never satisfied. Her original reason for going in failed completely. The farther she traveled, the louder the voice cried out. She began to feel it pulling her deeper and deeper into the woods. It disturbed her, but it was clear that the voice would not go away until she found or did whatever it needed her to find or do.

She began setting out the second Fakir left her sight, and walked and walked until the sun began to set, then turned around and began the trek back. Every time she turned back to return to the pond, the path back seemed to get more and more confusing with the undergrowth growing thicker and thicker. Thick brambles with thorns the size of fingers seemed to suddenly grow out of the ground around her, circling her like snakes and threatening to rip into her if she made one misstep.

It didn't make sense how she could walk for hours into the forest when it took about at most half an hour for her as she was to cross from one side of the walls to another, but due to the fog that clouded her thoughts, she wasn't able to concentrate on that strange fact.

Day after day after day passed. She had completely forgotten about ballet now, spending all her time sleeping, practicing flying or sleeping on the banks of the lake.

A few weeks had now passed since Fakir had fist noticed the change in Duck. He had mostly tried to push it to the back of his mind, as now on his short visits she seemed to fully understand what he was saying, reacting crossly whenever he insulted her, or encouragingly when he asked her opinions on his writing. But sometimes he would ask her a question and look into her eyes, and for a second, think they were as blank and devoid of understanding as any of the birds that she used to feed. It was now too cold to sit on the pier and write for hours like he wanted to. He had tried it a few times, but his hands would always cramp up from the cold before too long and he wouldn't be able to continue to write.

Today he had planned to say hello to Duck, leave a slice of good seedy bread and then move on. But when he reached the lake, Duck was no where to be found.

"Duck!" He called out, expecting a mess of white and yellow feathers to emerge from the reeds in a flurry of flaps and quacks, but no such thing happened.

"Where is that moron?," he whispered to himself before shouting louder, "Duck! I brought your favourite!"

Still Duck neither replied or came. Fakir edged his way towards the place where Duck normally slept, trying his best not to slip on the muddy bank. There was the place where she slept, but apart from a few moulted yellow downy feathers , there was no trace of her. But wait- When Fakir looked closely at the grass he could see a faint trail of cracked frost where something very small had made it's way into the trees.

Fakir moved quickly and carefully so as not to damage any of the faint and fragile trail before it melted completely. She must have passed by not long ago, for the marks to still be there. There was probably nothing wrong, but it was strange that she had not waited for the bread she loved so much.

As Fakir ventured deeper into the forest he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and was certain he could feel someone or something watching him. Something old, and cold and dead, something that should not be able to watch the living, but should be rotting in hell itself. All of a sudden the trail stopped, but no Duck was to be seen. Instead another trail, tinted red with blood began a few metres beyond.

Fakir's heart jumped in his throat as he began to run down the new trail.

He could see a small clearing up ahead.

In the centre of this clearing was a large hole in the ground. At the entrance to the hole in the maw of a terrifyingly skinny fox was a small yellow and white bloodied duck.

A/N

It's so hard to write proper chapters. I mostly now just write wee tiny essays that I write then revise over and over again so it's so different trying to structure a chapter in a way that sort of makes sense and flows especially when I'm not going to revise it properly until I have the entire thing finished. And it's so difficult trying to keep Duck and Fakir in character when everything is so angsty (I sort of also feel it's a bit too angsty). Their entire dynamic is so similar to book Howl and Sophie (perhaps they are a bit less of an absolute disaster) so I feel like it would be so much easier writing them when they can both be shouting at each other. Those few episodes in series two where they were just trying to sort stuff out was the best craic. If anyone does decide for some reason to read this please leave a wee review, perhaps some tips on how to improve the structure and pacing? I don't want the chapters to be too long but I'm a bit worried they're a little short.


	4. Chapter 4

The fox stared deep into Fakir's eyes, daring him to come closer and take his meal away from him. It's form skinny and it's fur thin, one could have mistaken it for the devil himself. Fakir screamed at it, but it did not back down, or back away. It just stood still. It was not until Fakir ran at it brandishing a large branch as a club, did the fox decide that such a small meal wasn't worth the potential pain. It slunk back into the hole, dropping Duck's body to the ground with a faint thump.

Fakir rushed to her side mumbling, "No, no, no," under his breath. He held his ear against her tiny head and gasped in relief when he heard her breathing, faint as it was. He removed his scarf and ever so carefully wrapped her up in it to try and warm her up a little.

Holding her close to his chest he fled the scene as quickly as he could, following the tracks he had made though the frost. Each raggedy breath he heard from his bundle sounded like nails upon an ancient blackboard.

It must have been half an hour later, although it felt like an eternity that Fakir arrived at the local vet's door. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of town, beyond the walls that bordered the town centre. He pounded upon the door and a very disgruntled yet concerned woman wearing a long flannel nightgown emerged after a few seconds.

"What's wrong?" asked the woman, "Is someone hurt? They better be, this is the one time of year that I get a full night's sleep!"

Fakir revealed the bird in the scarf which had now blotches of a brownish-red stain all over it. The woman raised an eyebrow at the desperation in his eyes, but when she realised his expression was in earnest she ushered him in, down the hall and into a ramshackle examination room. The walls were plastered with hand drawn diagrams showing the correct way to lamb a sheep in the instance of various complications with the pregnancy, or the parts of cows. There were several text books and massive magazines stacked on a shelf that was grey with a thick coating of dust. On a clearly more frequently used shelf sat various medical tools with unknown functions and a framed yellowing cutting from an old newspaper. In the centre of the room sat a large examining table upon which the vet gestured for Fakir to place Duck.

As Fakir did so the woman walked over to the shelf, picked up one of the dusty grey text books and flicked through the pages until she seemed to find the page she was looking for. She read over a few lines, nodded to herself and then marched over to the table.

She took a good long glance at Duck, then stared at Fakir for a few seconds before asking "So what pickle is your feathered friend in today? I don't ever get birds in, especially not outside opening hours."

"I was just walking when I-" Fakir began.

"A fox got her did it? That would be about right, they do get a bit more daring this time of year. My clients tell me they lose a lot of stock at this time of year."

As she spoke she carefully unwrapped Duck and began to examine her. Duck's breathing had evened out and it seemed that she was asleep.

"It sure did a number on this one didn't it! I don't normally work with birds, normally when this sort of thing happens the farmer's know just what to do with them." She laughed a little but stopped when she noticed Fakir's horrified expression. "But of course thing's are different with pets, so I'll do my best."

Fakir felt compelled to protest at Duck being called his pet. He had never felt like such was true and had done his best to make sure that she wouldn't feel as such either. However it did not seem like it would be in her best interest to upset this woman now.

The vet gave a look over Duck's wounds once more and checked the textbook. She then clapped it shut and began to hoke about under the table for some dressing and anti-septic.

"The good news is that the injuries aren't nearly as bad as they look, she'll be fine given time to rest."

Fakir sighed with relief. Thank goodness.

The vet began applying the anti-septic and the dressing to the wounds.

"There is something concerning though."

At this Fakir snapped his head up.

"Has she ever had a bad wing injury before?"

"Yes, a few weeks ago there was an accident, but I bandaged it appropriately according to the zoological books at the library. I thought it had healed."

"That would explain it then," said the vet.

"Explain what?" Fakir growled impatiently.

"Look at the way the wing isn't sitting quite right. It sort of hangs down a bit too far, and the feathers are sticking out a little. You must have done a good job since it's healed so well, but it's hard to get things exactly right with wings, according to this book anyway. There's a fifty-fifty chance that it just wont heal properly. With a wing like that it's no wonder that she got caught. I wouldn't give her ten minutes living on her own in the wild."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"She'll never be able to fly with her wing like that. At least not far, and no long distances. If she was wild or a farm animal I would suggest putting her down. It's no life to live for a free bird."

Fakir stood there in shock. How could this have happened. Was it not enough for her to have given up her humanity, her dancing and her happiness? Why must she have lost her freedom too? What would it mean for her future?

What had he done?

The vet finished dressing Duck's wounds and pushed a small bottle of white tablets into the stunned Fakir's hands.

"One of these every morning and one every night until the bottle is empty. It'll help the pain. She'll be perfectly fine, blood makes everything look gory, but it'll be sore I imagine. Come back next week during opening hours to pay me and I'll check everything's going fine."

She picked up Duck and placed her into Fakir's arms then pushed them both towards the door.

"I'm going to get some sleep. I have a busy day today and I deserve my beauty sleep. Goodbye and thank you for stopping by."

The door slammed behind them and Fakir was left alone with a still unconscious Duck in his arms.

Fakir returned home with Duck, not knowing quite what to do. He had had to sneak in as quietly as he could as kind as Charon was, Fakir wasn't sure how he would feel about him bringing in what the smith would consider a wild animal into his house.

He had set her carefully upon his bed as he searched for something more suited to a small injured animal. Eventually after a bit of looking he had managed to find an old basket from under his bed. He quickly removed the assorted bits and bobs that had accumulated inside of it over the years and then lined it with a small towel from the bathroom. Feeling like it looked comfy enough, Fakir placed it upon his desk and put the somehow still asleep Duck inside of it. She looked so peaceful despite the pain she must have been in.

Outside the town began to wake up. It seemed like years since he had gotten out of bed this morning and headed down to the lake, but in reality it had only been a few hours. He could hear Charon downstairs as he got out of bed and began to make breakfast. Horses clomped down the street and the carts they pulled scraped upon the cobbled streets. A few children called out to their parents as they headed of to school and the sky had began to clear up and turned into a cold blue. Everything seemed as normal, far more normal than Fakir could ever remember, but it just wasn't right.

Looking at the bird on his desk, and hearing her small whistling snores, he found himself wishing that the story had never ended. Perhaps things had been better when all they had to worry about was the end of their world. It was certainly far simpler. Now that they had removed Drosselmeyer's grip over the town, reality had constantly gotten in the way. Stories in the real world rarely had happy endings as Fakir had swiftly found out.

Though he continued to write the stories of the townsfolk, he could never bring them to a place where they would be truly happy. After a marriage, or the start of a friendship, or getting into the school of their dreams, life kept on going. In fact, all Fakir seemed to do was return these people to how their lives would have been like had Drosselmeyer not been in the picture. He guessed that was a good thing, as too much meddling in people's lives could easily cause him to follow the wrong path, however he felt helpless often, not even knowing if he was truly helping these people or if he was simply recording their story down. To even attempt to help, he had given up his place at the academy, and focused purely on writing and helping Charon, who wasn't getting any younger. He had loved to dance, however there were more important things to do now and he had only really began to dance since Mytho loved it so much.

The only time Fakir could say he had ever written a story down and it actually had any effect was with Duck where he had managed to help her not once but twice. He had often considered writing a story to try and return her to her human state, but had always quashed the idea as soon as it floated into his mind.

"This was the way things should be," he had thought, " Things have gone back to the way they were before Drosselmeyer interfered with this town and perhaps she wouldn't want to go back to being human. This was the life she was born to live, who am I to take that away from her?"

But this was before he had learned the shocking information that he had received from the vet this morning. It had never in a million years crossed his mind that Duck's wing might have been permanently damaged from the fight with the Raven. When he ran to find her after the townspeople had returned to normal and saw her lying there it looked so bad, but while Mythos and Rue helped the townspeople back into their homes he had ran to the library and bandaged her up. He followed the instructions perfectly, yet here she was, not even able to fly away from this cruel place.

He jumped when he heard a small quack from the basket on his desk. Duck had awoken and was trying to get out of the basket. He got off the side of the bed and sat on the desk chair beside Duck.

"Did you not hear what the vet said you moron? You are to stay there until you are completely better."

At this Duck quacked in protest and was about to wave her wings to emphasise that the was no way that she was going to stay still, but winced whenever a tight pain shot through her wing.

"See why you are to stay now?"

Duck quacked resignedly and sat back down, instead focusing her efforts on figuring out what had happened in the last few hours. The day before she had once again been driven to go into the forest, but something had went wrong. What? That's right, she had forgotten to turn back in time. By the time she had noticed it was dark she had already wandered deep into the forest. Duck at first tried to go back, but the undergrowth was far too thick and it soon got too dark to see. Eventually she gave up and settled down to sleep in a hollow amongst the tree roots. After that…

Fakir seeing Duck apparently deep in thought decided to recount to her the events of the morning. He told her of how he had went down to the lake in the morning to visit and not ben able to see her anywhere, then followed the trail and found her in the jaws of a fox and the rush to the vets.

"She said that you'll be fine, the injuries aren't too bad. You're to rest, and take painkillers twice a day. You'll stay here where I can keep an eye on you so I know you wont be doing anything stupid. The vet also said…"

Fakir hesitated. Should he tell her that she would never be able to fly? He had watched her spend hours practicing and trying to get off the water's surface. Could he tell her? Was the vet even correct in her assessment of the situation? She had said that she had very little experience with birds. Perhaps there was a chance that she was wrong?

Fakir swallowed a lump that had appeared in his throat, "The vet said that you were the clumsiest animal that she had ever seen. Be more careful next time."

As Duck exploded into a flurry of quacks and various other noises that had no right coming out of the mouth of anything living Fakir tried to justify putting off telling the truth.

"I'll research this myself before telling her anything," Fakir told himself, trying to keep down an ever rising feeling of guilt, "Even if it is true there is no reason to tell her now when she is hurt like this"

A/N

Becoming increasingly aware that none of the characters are at all in character. I find Fakir in particular very difficult since he's always very gentle with Duck while at the same time they constantly bicker. It's such a hard dynamic to get right, kudos to everyone who's written them well! There are some inconsistancies here that I'll eventually come back to and sort out. This chapter also ended very suddenly since I intended a lot more to happen here, but what did happen took a lot more than I thought it would. Please roast me in the reviews with helpful if biting critism. If anyone has gotten this far into the story, thank you, I don't know how you have so much patience!


	5. Chapter 5

Fakir wasn’t telling her something, she could tell that much. It was the way he averted his eyes while talking to her and would never meet her eyes when she tried to answer back. It had been three days now since the incident with the fox and Fakir had been suspiciously nice to her. Fantastic grainy bread twice a day and he had brought her into the smithy so she could see how the work was done. To be honest it was terribly suspicious. Fakir had not been this nice to her since the story had ended. Something was most definitely up.   
Charon hadn’t taken long working out that Fakir was keeping Duck in his room and though he had to be persuaded that Duck would behave himself had agreed to let her stay. Though Duck was sure that she could get up by herself, Fakir kept her by him constantly in the most irritating way he could. Where before he was aloof and distant, he was suffocatingly clingy, only leaving her alone for an hour or two every day when he would go to the library for some mysterious reason. At first he had wanted to bring Duck, but ironically animals were no longer allowed. Duck thanked her lucky stars for this break. Even though she enjoyed spending time with Fakir and really appreciated him giving up his time to look after her something was definitely very wrong.  
It wasn’t until now that Duck was so confronted by her affect on Fakir’s everyday life. She had not seen his dance since their shared pas de deux at the bottom of the lake of despair and though initially she had thought that this was purely because he was so much more busy with his writing and taking on more responsibility helping Charon in his shop, it had only now just became clear that her inability to dance properly had a major part in his decision to quit. It seemed that almost every waking moment he had was effected by her presence and Duck couldn’t help like feeling he was wasting his life for a foolish bird who couldn’t even provide him with proper company. If only he would tell her what was wrong, so then she could deal with it on her own and leave him be to live his life without being weighed down by a deadweight such as herself.   
Today Fakir had woken up early and brought Duck, not bread as she had gotten accustomed to, but a bowl of cold, slimy porridge. When Duck looked up at him with disgust he responded by telling her that bread was actually bad for her and that from now on, as long as he was providing it there would be cold porridge all the way. As if he knew what was best for her! I’m a duck and I can tell perfectly well what’s good for me! She wanted to shout, but she still somehow managed to finish the bowl. He had then proceeded to write for a few hours at his desk before announcing that her was going to the library, closing the door behind him.  
Duck was left all alone and took the opportunity to get out of the basket and stretch. If she wasn’t all feathers she would have still been completely black and blue but she was most certainly far better than she was three days ago and had definitely suffered worse. Her wing felt tighter than ever, and the worry that she had managed to keep down until now was starting to rear it’s ugly head.   
“Why is this happening?” Duck couldn’t help asking herself, “How can life be like this? We beat the raven and everything went back to normal, so why am I so unhappy? Can I not even get being a duck right? I was a lousy girl, but at least I thought I could get being a duck right? What is going on?”  
“I’m so happy you asked, little duck,” came a voice that echoed around the room, “It’s been so long hasn’t it?”  
Fakir sat at one of the tables in the library. In front of him sat a book entitled, “Waterfowl of Germany”, but he wasn’t really reading it. As soon as he finished a page he was about to flick over when he realised he had not taken in anything that he had read at all. In the end, all this reading was pointless. He knew what was wrong with Duck, and he knew that he should tell her the truth, yet he couldn’t find the courage to tell her. This wasn’t meant to happen. He and Duck were meant to live a peaceful if not perfect life where they were just able to find happiness in each others company, but all her independence had been stripped away from her and he could see how frustrated she was. He was frustrated too, there was no way that they could keep on living like this. Duck deserved freedom and independence, not to be relegated to being someone’s pet! But what other option did they have? With the state she was in she couldn’t be left to live on her own on the lake anyway!  
Fakir sighed and cupped his head in his hands. At the very least he was certain that he should tell Duck about her wing. She deserved to know and if she did already, she deserved to know that he knew.   
“What ever are we going to do?”

Duck quacked in horror at the man who had appeared in the reflection of the window. It couldn’t be, it mustn’t be!   
“It is so nice to see you again little duck! Life has been so boring without watching you drawing ever closer to utter despair!”  
Duck quacked in fury at the dead man. How dare he come back? She had thought they had reached the ending of the story!  
“I’d flatter myself in saying that I guided you to this tragic ending, but it seems like you’ve brought enough misery on yourself! Pity really! You’ve even forgotten how to speak haven’t you? I can’t even understand you myself!”  
At this the man laughed, “Why of course! That foolish grandson of mine! He returned things to the way things were before I exerted my masterful abilities over this town! That is so typical of him, rushing into things, destroying my great work without thinking over the consequences.”  
Duck was disturbed by the implications of what Drosselmeyer was saying, but ignored the worry. Something in her subconscious began to recognise a running theme.  
“I assume you are asking what I’m doing here?” Drosselmeyer asked, “Do I need a reason to check over my favourite little masterpiece? If you must know I am terribly bored! I tried to revive some of my other unfinished stories, but your little friend keeps tying up all my loose threads and ruining everything for me! And even when I manage to shake her off, the character’s are so dull, it’s almost like they’re determined to fail! It’s so much more entertaining when they fight back and are dragged unwilling into the depths of despair. Much less so when they are willingly pulled along by the current of life hither and thither until they inevitably fall into misery.”   
Drosselmeyer disappeared and then reappeared in the shadow of the desk behind Duck.  
“I’m so pleased to see how absolutely dreadfully you are doing my little duck! I was a little worried that you were going to turn my beautiful tragedy into a truly disgusting fairytale! Thank goodness I was wrong. You’ve become just a simple pet, unable to even communicate with your own kind!”  
Duck could not take anymore of this. At the mere idea of being called a pet her feathers stood on end!   
“Would you just keep quiet already!” Duck shouted, surprising both herself and Drosselmeyer.   
They stood there in silence for a minute before Drosselmeyer grinned and said,” Oh! So you finally found your voice then! Some of my story still breathes in you yet! This is so fortunate! Well my little Duck, how would you like to have a chance at regaining your lost humanity?”  
“My humanity?” Duck asked, “You mean I’d have a chance at becoming a girl again? But I thought-“  
“Ah yes, you thought you had given it all up to save the poor prince! So you did, but what if I were to tell you that there was a way you could lose your feathers and become human once more?”  
“I would say that it’s all some horrible trick!” exclaimed Duck turning away from the undead author. She was sure that his motivation was anything but good, yet something in Duck was tempted to nibble on the bait Drosselmeyer was hanging before her.  
“What do you mean become human again though?”  
“Ohohoho!” chuckled Drosselmeyer, “Why I mean exactly what I sound like I mean! Does your poor heart not yearn to dance once more? Do you not want to talk to another person and have them understand what you have to say? Do you want to remain such a burden to my dear grandson? Surely you do not want him weighed down by a crippled bird who could not even escape a hungry fox?”  
The last point struck Duck hard. It was true, she was being a burden. But something struck her as very concerning,  
“What do you mean crippled? I’m hurt, but all being well I should be fine in a day or two!”  
Drosselmeyer seem to find this question back breakingly hilarious.  
“You mean you haven’t noticed? Come now, come now, you must have noticed!”  
“Noticed what!?”  
“Your wing! It’s as wonky as the writing for this story! Surely you’ve noticed it?”  
“Well, it was feeling a little tight, but I’m sure that’s normal!”  
“Surely my idiot grandson would have told you about this? Weren’t you at the vet the other day?”  
“Just how long have you been spying on me?” quacked Duck.  
“Long enough! Do you not want to listen to my offer?”  
“Go on then! But I’m not going to take it anyway!”  
“Well then little Duck. I’ll give you a chance to become human again. I’m not even going to ask you to do anything in return for me since I’m in such a generous mood. All you need to do is travel to the deepest part of that forest by the lake and there you will find someone who will be able to help you! The road will be dangerous, but with your resolve I’m sure it’ll be easy as cake!”   
Drosselmeyer paused for a minute, seemingly expecting a reply from Duck. When no reply came, he looked up and saw that her beak was turned up and her eyes closed. She scoffed once and climbed back into the basket.  
“I’m happy enough as I am,” said Duck, “As Fakir said this is who I really am, and I’ve made my peace with that. I’m not taking up anymore of your lousy deals.”  
Drosselmeyer blinked in surprise but shrugged his shoulders and grinned.  
“Well if this is how you want your story to end, I’ll not push it any further. But my offer will still stand if you ever change your mind.”  
Duck scoffed once again and opened her eyes.  
“Like I’d even consider it-“ she began, but the old man had vanished and the light outside was beginning to fade as the sun began it’s slow and steady descent below the horizon.  
“That was so horrible,” whispered Duck to herself, “Why of all times would he come back now?”   
Then a thought that made her squirm popped into her mind.   
“I’ll have to tell Fakir about what happened… But how?”  
Although it seemed that she had regained her ability to talk to herself and Drosselmeyer, she knew that she was not talking in anyway that Fakir could understand. And the offer- Something about it disturbed her to her core. What did Drosselmeyer have to gain from offering her a chance to become a girl again?   
Even more importantly, was what he was saying about her wing true? Though it still hurt a little to stretch them out, she raised up her wings and gave an experimental flap. She could feel herself being lifted off the desk a little, but the imbalance was still there. Though she had never flown properly, her instincts confirmed that one of her wings was indeed not working properly.  
Tears began to fall, and for the first time in a long time Duck began to allow herself to cry. Though losing ballet was painful she had comforted herself and assured her that when she was able to truly fly in the air that hollow inside her heart would be filled somewhat and she would be able to feel happy again. Yet now it was clear that there was no chance of that happening. Now it was clear that she couldn’t even do what she needed to survive on her own. She couldn’t put tat sort of burden on Fakir.  
“Perhaps this is my only option,” thought Duck.  
She wouldn’t give Drosselmeyer the satisfaction of a deal however. She knew that he was probably watching somewhere and though that idea sent shivers down her spine, she didn’t know what other choice she had.   
Duck climbed once again out of the old basket on Fakir’s desk and flapped over to the window sill. With no small amount of effort Duck managed to pull the latch, and nudge open the window. The evening breeze was cold, but it didn’t turn Duck back. She spread her wings as far as she could and jumped. They managed to catch the wind, and allowed her to glide from the window to the street below. Her webbed feet hit the ground a little roughly causing her still sore wounds to smart a little, but she had made her decision. She waddled slowly but surely towards the lake and the forest.  
When she got to the forest edge, she hesitated, remembering her last encounter there, but the voice inside her cried out once again with a vengeance and she found herself being pulled in without so much as a look back to the town.

Fakir came back from the library, a little shaken by what he had learned that day. He knew that his and Duck’s time together would not be long, but seeing the numbers right in front of him was far different.   
As he made his way along the city walls towards his home, he hugged himself to keep the cold out.  
“I should have brought a coat. It’s getting to that time of year again.”  
There it was, his home. Soon he would be able to have a nice hot cup of tea and he could sit by the fire to warm himself up.”  
Fakir opened the door of the house, said hello to Charon who was making soup for dinner and then headed upstairs to his room. As he opened the door, he felt a light breeze pushing against it. He pushed it open a little harder. The door opened and Fakir was left alone in his room. On his floor was the manuscript he was currently writing and had left for Duck to read over so she would have something to do. The window was wide open and the basket on his desk was empty.  
A/N for chapter 4  
Fakir is way too controlling. Need to fix this in next draft. I understand that he is concerned and Duck needs to rest and Fakir cannot trust her to look after herself properly since she has no sense of self preservation but there’s bound to be a better way than just having him being a hole of a butt. In next version include more actual chatting and perhaps Fakir at least feels super bad about treating her like a pet? Probably best if there is Charon/ Duck interaction too. That could be a cute dynamic. In general need more slice of life type scenes, angst is lovely and all but there is too much ooc angst and not enough not angst.  
If anyone’s reading this sorry about the notes! They’re mostly just functioning as guidance for when I hopefully all being well rewrite this into something actually readable! I like the general plot and how it’s going, but as I said too much angst and these characters do work best when there is more of a balance. All being well we’re getting into the fun stuff now! Drosselmeyer’s made his first appearance! It’s so difficult writing him, how does one translate the onscreen craziness into text?   
Please make sure to roast me in the reviews if you have a spare minute!


	6. Chapter 6

The undergrowth was so much thicker than it ever had been before, tangling Duck in briars and tripping her up with thick, strange roots. It was as if the forest itself did not want her going in and was trying to stop her from going any further and instead drag her back into town. Duck was determined. Every time she got tangled up, she ripped herself free and every time she fell down, she got up again. She was not going to let this forest bring her down.  
The further she travelled the darker it became and the stranger and older the trees, their trunks and branches malformed with age, covered in lumpy tumours. The odd voice inside of Duck grew ever louder and louder and stranger with the trees. She felt it’s pull and instead of resisting like she had initially she let it pull her along. However, another smaller voice began, much smaller and much softer, yet just as earnest, urging her to go back to the town, to accept her fate and live a happy imperfect life. She could learn to live with her lot in life, she did not have to go through with this. Drosselmeyer obviously wanted her to go to the forest and following Drosselmeyer’s plans had only brought pain and suffering had they not? All this fighting just for a sliver of a chance of a better tomorrow could not be worth it could it.  
For a second, she was almost about to turn back. This voice inside of her was convincing. It was true that following Drosselmeyer’s advice had brought her pain and suffering in the past, and she could go back if she wanted to.  
But then Duck heard something so completely out of place in a place like this. It was a sound that she had not heard in a very long time.  
“Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap,” went the noise.  
Duck stopped unable to carry on her train of thought. Was that…?  
“Tap-tap-tap,” went the sound of a beating drum.  
“Uzura!” shouted Duck.  
The noise began to fade, as if the mysterious drum player were running further into the forest. Duck ran as fast as her webbed feet could carry her.  
“Uzura! Wait for me!” Duck cried out again.  
She tripped.  
The sound gradually faded out into the distance and Duck was left alone in silence.  
She sat there for a minute not sure if what she had heard was real, or just in her head. Perhaps it was just dream caused by the stress of the entire situation. Uzura had not been seen since Rue and Mytho had left. She would not fit into the real world, no more than Duck did.  
“Wherever you are Uzura, I hope you’re safe.” Duck whispered to herself.  
Just then a rustle came from a bush in front of her. Her heart pounded in her breast, suddenly reminded of the last time she came into the woods.  
As if something from a nightmare a thin, grinning fox emerged from the bushes, it’s eyes locked upon Duck’s.  
“Hello again,” said the Fox in a tone that scared Duck.  
“Hello,” said Duck, her voice trembling with fear, “How are you?”  
The fox stopped, terribly surprised.  
“How am I?” he repeated incredulously, “You do remember our last meeting don’t you? What sort of bird are you that wanders into my forest and asks how I am doing? Nevertheless, I am doing fine. That is more I can imagine than you are at the moment.”  
“You’re forest?” Duck asked.  
“Yes.” The fox replied, “This is my forest. From the tallest oak to the smallest mushroom. All you can see and all that you cannot see belongs to me, for this is my kingdom. Now I will repeat myself, what sort of being are you and what do you want?”  
“I-I’m Duck and- and I’m just a duck!” stammered Duck, “I was told to come here to find something!”  
The fox considered this for a second, then slunk closer to Duck. She tried to step back in turn but backed into a tree instead.  
“You have a name then? Most interesting… I would not go about telling any stranger you meet here that. Names have power you know.”  
He stopped a second, before lunging towards Duck. She quacked in terror and made to escape but stopped when she heard the fox chuckle with a strange hollow voice.  
“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck,” chuckled the fox, “yet I can tell you’re just like me.”  
It slunk around to sit beside her as opposed to in front of her.  
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Duck curiously.  
“You may go ahead,” it looked deep into the woods, ignoring Duck’s question “But I warn you that if you go any further you mustn’t expect to return any time soon. Time runs differently the further you travel from the edge. Are you sure this is the decision that you want to make?”  
Duck nodded, though she was still very confused as to what exactly was going on.  
“I’m absolutely, one hundred percent sure about this,” answered Duck, “I don’t have any other choice.”  
The fox smiled for one last time, showing off its large fangs, “Then I will leave you. Good luck little sister, I wish you well. May we meet again someday.”  
And with that the fox slunk into the undergrowth leaving Duck all alone once more.  
“What was that all about?” whispered Duck.  
Nothing answered but the soft breeze gently shaking the leaves. She sat still for a moment, allowing her heart to quieten and her breathing to return to normal, before picking herself off the ground and continuing deeper into the forest.

“Fakir stop this! This is absolute madness!” Charon shouted, blocking the front door, “I understand that you are upset, but you can not just keep a wild animal into the house and expect it to stay there and be happy. I thought you were old enough to know this!”  
“But she’s not just a wild animal and she’s hurt!” Fakir shouted, trying to push past his adopted father.  
“It’s not right forcing things to go against their nature, even if you think it’s in their best interests! And I’m pretty sure you do not need a sword to go look for a lost duck!”  
As soon as he realised that Duck was gone, Fakir began looking for clues as to what had happened. At first it seemed like she had just left unprovoked, but as he turned to leave his room, he heard a sound that he prayed to never hear again. It was the echo of Drosselmeyer’s laughter. There was no mistaking it for anything else.  
He had began preparing immediately, desperately hoping he had misheard the laughter.  
“Perhaps it was just the wind,” he hoped, but in his heart he knew that that was not true and if Drosselmeyer was back, and Duck was missing there was no doubt whatsoever that he had some involvement in it.  
First, he grabbed some bread and cheese and packed into it his backpack. Along with that went a lamp and some oil, some paper, pens and ink and a large flask filled with water. If Drosselmeyer was involved there was no doubt that danger was lurking ahead, so last but certainly not least, Fakir went to get his sword. Charon was not pleased about that at all as evidenced by him blocking the door.  
“I honestly do not understand what is going on with you Fakir, you have just gone mad!”  
“Charon let me past! I know I must seem mad, but I know something that you don’t, and I need to go!”  
Charon did not budge from his spot. Fakir swiftly realised that he was not going to be getting anywhere by just repeating how he needed to do something so quickly changed his tune and stopped trying to get past Charon.  
“Remember how when I was a brat you used to tell me how I was the knight reborn from the Prince and the Raven Fairy tale?”  
“Oh god, you do not still believe that do you? I thought you had outgrown that years and years ago! I just told you that to make you feel better! It is not real Fakir! There is a difference between reality and fiction!”  
“Do you remember who my best friend was growing up?” asked Fakir.  
Charon was about to answer but seemed shocked that he couldn’t remember who it was. He knew Fakir had spent his childhood with Raetsel and someone else, and he could almost picture this third person. He could remember the things he saw them do together and he could recite off the most minute details, yet the name of the person and what they looked like eluded him. It was almost like the memories were pictures with the mysterious third child cut out of them perfectly. While Charon was lost for words Fakir took his chance.  
“It was Mythos, the prince from the story! We found him, you and I when we were walking do you remember?”  
Charon was inclined to disbelieve Fakir, but something in this seemingly made up story seemed to ring true to him. It was almost as if it reminded him of a story that he was told years ago.  
“And that’s why I need to go! The story repeated itself in the real world! And you cannot remember it, but you know it’s true! And I fear that if I do not find Duck, it will repeat itself or something even worse will happen.”  
Charon surprised himself by moving out of Fakir’s way. Everything in him told him that his adopted son was being crazy and that he should probably just be told to go to bed, but his eyes were so confident in himself and so worried and so earnest that Charon couldn’t help but believe every word that he said.  
“Go Fakir. I’m not sure this is the right thing to do, but you’ve been in such a mood recently, even if you have lost your mind, perhaps this will be good for you and knock some sense into that thick brain of yours.”  
Fakir embraced his father once last time and headed out the door.  
“Thank you,” he said as the door shut behind him and Fakir set off into the night, unsure of what lay ahead.  
A/N for Chapter 5  
I really like The Fox, they’re really fun to write though I think I need to change the first meeting a bit. There’s quite a bit I want to change at some point and quite a bit that needs adding. Much easier that Duck can actually have some proper dialogue. I quite like Uzura guiding Duck. I know it’s been done many times before, but I’m not trying to be original and it’s a fun idea Drosselmeyer trying to bring about wrack and ruin and Uzura running about messing up his plans and helping working towards a happy ending. There’s not enough Uzura in the world, we need so much more of her. She’s far too cute and my favourite episodes are the ones with her and Duck and Fakir.  
If anyone reading is annoyed by my decision to have Duck be called Duck it’s mostly because I haven’t seen the subbed version (shocking I know) but I have sort of fallen in love with the awkwardness of the dub. I can understand people not liking the direct translation of Duck’s name, but it’s meant to be awkward and not sound like a name and I definitely think who ever was in charge of that decision was absolutely in the right. It’s sometimes annoying writing it, but I can’t wait to write Duck ducked somewhere!  
Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. Doing minimal editing since you know it’s NaNoWriMo and if I get proper editing done I’ll never get anything else down!


	7. Chapter 7

Duck continued onwards into the forest. The sun was down, and Duck began to worry about where she was going to sleep that night. She normally would have just settled down anywhere relatively warm and dry, but the encounter with the fox earlier had put her on edge and she had decided to be more careful. At first, she thought to go and sleep in one of the branches of the trees that surrounded her, but found that she couldn’t get enough thrust to actually manage to get that far.   
“I’d probably fall anyway,” thought Duck, still a little miffed that the plan that she was so pleased with did not work, “I’m not designed for high up spaces.”  
She briefly considered trying to dig a hole, before deciding that that was a stupid idea and would not even do much to deter or escape the notice of any hungry predator who fancied a bite to eat. Thankfully as Duck looked around, she thought she could see a little light through the foliage. Deciding that that was as good a place to check out as anywhere else for a place to sleep, she followed it to a small clearing in the forest.   
In the centre of the clearing was an extremely cute, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof. Along the walls trailed various colours of exquisitely complicated roses that seemed to shine with an earthly glow in the moonlight. At the front was a large vegetable garden with cabbages twice the size of Duck, ruby red radishes, and sweetcorn that threatened to fall from the weight of its many full ears. To the side was an herb garden, edged with old red bricks with little stepping stones through the middle. Each plant had a little label with the name of the plant and what it was used for.  
The patchwork curtains were mostly drawn except for one, which held the light that Duck had managed to spot through the trees. Duck ran over to peek into the window. Inside there was a simple fireplace. Upon the mantle was a large, framed photograph of two people; a man and a suspiciously familiar woman. The photograph was blurred as if the couple had moved halfway through the development. The woman was leaning on the man and they were both laughing so hard that their eyes were watering. By the fire, the subjects of the photo sat on a large comfy looking red chair. The man was reading a book, and though Duck could not hear him, she could see that he was reading it aloud to the woman who like the photo leaned against him with her eyes closed. Two cups of some hot milky drink sat on a simple coffee table beside them. To Duck they looked like the perfect picture of matrimonial bliss.   
Duck felt a drop of something wet land on her head, so she looked up. The sky was no longer clear, now it was filled with heavy black clouds that covered the full moon.   
“I better get somewhere dry!” thought Duck. Her curiosity had almost gotten the better of her. She had completely forgotten about finding somewhere to sleep and now that it was raining it was more important than ever to find somewhere.   
She looked about for somewhere dry and safe. Could she sleep under the cabbages? Probably not, especially with the rain! In the end she settled to sit on the doorstep, which was sheltered from the wind and the rain, and warm since heat radiated from behind the door. Duck was doubtful that any other wild animal would come so close to a human residence so she was probably safe. As her eyes began to close, soft music began to play from inside the house, with the familiar crackle of a record. She listened to the sound of the couple singing softly to each other and dancing a slow dance to the record until sleep overtook her.  
The next morning Duck was awoken by the sound of someone fumbling with a lock. She just barely managed to get out of the way before the door swung violently open. The woman from last night emerged from the house and let out a big gasp.  
“Good morning world!” the woman shouted and Duck was suddenly reminded of who this woman reminded her of.  
“This woman looks exactly like Miss Ebine!” thought Duck. She watched her from behind a flower pot beside the doorway as the woman walked over to the herb garden and began to weed with a surprising enthusiasm.   
The woman was followed by a large grey cat with long fur. As he turned around Duck could see that he only had one eye. Duck watched for a minute as the cat suddenly became focused on something immediately behind her. It was not until too late that Duck realised that one eye was actually trained on her rather than anything behind or beside her. She was about to try and shift out of the way when the cat pounced and landed beside her.   
It was shocking to see the cat move so fast, especially since he was not the sleekest of cats. In fact, one might even say that the cat was considerably fat!  
“What’s this sitting in my place?” asked the cat in a mischievous tone that Duck did not find comforting at all.   
“Once again trapped in a corner with a big killing machine,” thought Duck, “It’s just my luck isn’t it?”  
The cat gave her a firm bat with his paw and Duck could swear that she could see her life flash before her eyes, at least as much of it as she could remember.   
“It is most inconvenient to have someone sitting in my special spot, especially on such a lovely day,” said the cat in such a way that Duck was not sure if he was talking to himself or to her.  
“What could I do with such an inconsiderate thing?” he asked before scratching his ear lazily with one of his back paws. “I’m not sure how much eating you would get on such a small scraggly duck and I have just had breakfast. Otherwise I would gladly have some duck to eat. Unfortunately I think I might have to let you go.”  
With this the cat stepped out of her way and Duck took the chance to begin to flee, however no sooner than she had waddled a couple of metres did the cat pounce on her yet again.  
Duck quacked as she tried to get the cat off of her, yet no matter how much she struggled the cat still managed to stay on top of her.   
Disturbed by the commotion, the woman who looked and sounded very much like Ebine got off her knees and turned around.   
Whenever she saw the kerfuffle that was going on between the cat and Duck she gasped and exclaimed “Oh my goodness!” She immediately picked up the full watering can that was sitting beside the garden and emptied it over the cat and the bird.  
The cat reacted immediately, hissing and jumping from on top of Duck to go and find somewhere warm and dry to dry himself off. The woman ran over to Duck’s side to check to see if she was still alive. To her relief Duck was very much still alive and the only damage that was really done was to her dignity.  
“Not that I have very much dignity left anyways,” thought Duck as she righted herself and unfluffed her feathers.  
“What is a little thing such as yourself doing out here all alone?” the woman asked Duck.   
Frustratingly Duck could only quack in reply. The woman tried to pick her up much to Duck’s distaste. She managed to squirm her way out off the woman’s grip and get back to the ground though very inelegantly as there was not enough distance between her and the ground to slow her descent.   
The woman crossed her arms as she watched Duck try to right herself again. The man emerged wearing a blue and white stiped nightgown. He had clearly just woken up and his hair looked very much like a bird’s nest.   
“What’s going on?” the man asked the woman.  
“Peter was going after birds again,” replied the woman in a tired voice.  
“I don’t know how he does it,” chuckled the man, “He’s fed so much that I’m surprised that he can even move! Is this the poor creetur that he went after?”  
The man turned to Duck and put his hand out.  
The woman scoffed lightly and said, “Yes! I tried to bring the poor thing in to dry off, but it just didn’t want to come in!”  
The man turned away from Duck and looked at the woman.  
“You do realise that this is a duck?” he asked the woman in a teasing voice.  
“Of course I do!” replied the woman indignantly.  
“Duck’s are sort of meant to be wet! You know the saying, ‘Like water off of a duck’s back?”  
“Of course I do,” the woman couldn’t help but laughing at the man’s ridiculous way of saying things. “But the poor thing is clearly too small to be on it’s own! Peter probably stole it from some poor mother duck’s nest!”  
The man’s eyes softened, “I know, you are just concerned, and that’s what I love about you!”  
The woman blushed at this and looked away without saying anything.  
The man turned his attention back to Duck, his hand still offered out to her. She was a little distracted by the couple’s antics but focused on the man when she realised his attention was back on her.  
The man made a small clicking sound with his tongue and said “Would you like to come in to get something to eat little one?”   
Despite her instincts telling her to run, Duck walked up to the man and sniffed at his offered hand. He smelled like freshly made dough and flour. In fact after further inspection Duck discovered that in fact his hands were coated in flour! Duck sneezed and the man laughed before straightening up again.  
“If you want to come in, feel free. I’ll leave the door open for you!” He turned his attention back t the woman who was still blushing a little. “Ebine, I’ve just made the dough for today’s dinner, come in when you are ready! We’re having pancakes for breakfast!”  
So the woman was Ebine! But that didn’t seem right thought Duck. The woman looked the same, yet there were subtle differences. This woman lacked the frown lines around her eyes and her entire personality seemed so much happier. Even though the two women looked about the same age, this one felt much younger and much less mature. But who was the man?  
Duck was about to go into the cottage to find out, but hesitated for a minute. Was it safe? When the smell of freshly made pancakes hit her however all pretence of waiting was abandoned and Duck hurriedly waddled into the cottage and followed the smell into the kitchen.  
The man stood by a beautiful cream coloured oven. Although Duck knew very little about cooking, she couldn’t help admiring how fantastic it looked. The man was standing in front of it, ladling batter onto a hot cast iron pan. When he heard Duck come in he turned around and smiled.  
“So you’ve decided to come in! Make yourself at home!” He looked at Duck for a second and then said, “If I were you, I’d make myself comfy on the seat beside the oven! You’ll get dry in no time whatsoever!” and with that he returned to tending the pancakes.  
Duck looked at the chair that the man gestured to and with some amount of effort managed to flap her way onto it where she promptly sat upon the worn cushion. It was a fantastic seat, warmed by the oven and with such a nice cushion! She would have to be careful not to fall asleep.  
To stop herself from doing that she decided to examine the kitchen in a little more detail. In the centre of the room was a large kitchen table with four wooden chairs under it. The table was laid for two people with the loveliest crockery that Duck had ever seen. Each plate had a different flower on it with what Duck supposed was the Latin name and the common name. The edge of each plate was painted with a wreath of leaves. In between the two settings was a small vase with a rose from the walls outside in it. The floor was tiled with orange tiles that were battered yet charming. Along the walls there were samplers with various verses and sayings. The one that Duck focused on most was one that had apparently been completed by a Mary- aged seven that read “Home is where you hang your hat,” along with the alphabet, the numbers up until 9 and a small cross stitch of a cottage much like the one she was in right now. The ceiling beams where painted with quaint patterns of flowers and birds and from them hung bunches of garlic, onions and dried herbs. There was another mantlepiece in this room too, though the fire was not currently on. It was even less grand than the one in the living room that Duck had been attracted to last night, but it added to the homey atmosphere.   
What surprised Duck the most was a small box labelled recipes. She had only seen one before like it and that was at the restaurant owned by the Ebine that she knew.   
Ebine walked into the room and gave the man a kiss on his bearded cheek.   
“Omoto honey, you’re a star!”   
The man blushed and giggled, which sounded very peculiar from such a tall man which such a large beard.   
“The pancakes are almost finished!” he said looking away, a hint of red still in his cheeks. “Would you grab a plate for our guest?”   
“Of course!” Ebine replied, “How could I have forgotten?”   
She took a plate down from the sideboard and winked at Duck before setting it down on the floor beside her. The man who apparently was called Omoto bent down and placed several small pancakes upon her plate before serving his wife and then himself.   
Duck hopped down from the seat and began to eat her pancakes. They were absolutely fantastic! She was not sure she had ever had pancakes before, but they were just as delicious as she had always suspected they would be and definitely blew the cold porridge out of the water.  
When Duck had finished, she looked up at the couple who were chatting in an animated fashion, Ebine’s arms gesturing widely as Omoto laughed at the story she was telling. Not wanting to bother them, she quietly quacked her thanks and duck snuck out of the room.  
Before leaving the cottage, she looked left and right to check to see if the cat was there. When she couldn’t see him, Duck ran for it. She reached the edge of the clearing when she thought to turn back, just to see the cottage once more. To her surprise however when she turned around there was no cottage in sight. Gone was the cottage and the vegetable patch and the herb garden. All that was left were the husband and wife, caught in each other’s embrace. Duck could see that they were both crying as they hugged each other tightly. Then Omoto began to fade out of sight, like a shadow in the early morning. Ebine stood there alone for a few seconds looking into the sky before she too faded out of existence until there was no evidence of the cottage or its inhabitants at all.

Fakir had checked all the places that Duck could possibly be in town. He checked outside the practice rooms where Duck sometimes liked to watch the students dance, the pizzeria, the bridge and even the café where he and Rue had once found Mytho where he first mentioned Princess Tutu and though he had met the rather pushy and eccentric owner, he had not found Duck anywhere. That meant that there were only three other possibilities as to where she could have gone. Either she had left the town altogether, in which case Fakir had little chance of finding her, she had merely returned to the lake and would be there when he reached it or she had once again got lost in the patch of trees beside the lake again.   
Fakir decided that his best chance would be looking at the lake as to be honest that was the place where she would most likely be. Duck was a Duck after all! When he reached the lake he was disappointed to find that she was not there. That left only one other really likely answer. Fakir turned to the patch of trees where he had found Duck the other day.  
He walked a little into the trees but only walked a little way before getting caught in the undergrowth. He looked about for an easier way in. There was a little dirt path that he had not seen before leading into the trees. Each side was lined with thick brambles and nettles, so he reasoned that this must have been the way that Duck had gone. If even he with his relatively tall legs couldn’t even get through he doubted that Duck could have possibly went that way. He carefully untangled himself and stumbled out onto the path.   
He walked a little way before turning around to try and get his bearings. To his surprise he could no longer see the town, despite only walking a little way. All he could see were seemingly endless trees and the path that seemed to round a corner that he could not remember taking.   
“Drosselmeyer is definitely involved in this,” thought Fakir as he continued down the path. He walked for a few hours, but still he had not reached the town wall, which would normally be visible from the lake. A thick fog settled in amongst the trees as night began to fall.  
Fakir began to think about where he would settle down for the night but as he rounded another corner he thought he finally saw the walls of the town. He ran closer, before slowing down. Those were definitely not the walls of GoldCrown town. Instead of white, they consisted of huge blocks of grey stone. The path lead to a large gate with two turreted towers on either side. If fakir squinted he could see two guards standing on either side of the gate.   
“Hello!” he called out to the guards. He could see them raise their hands in acknowledgement. He sprinted up to them and stood for a second panting.   
“Hello!” said one of the guards, a tall man with a large waxed moustache, “How are you traveller?”   
“I am well, how are you?” replied Fakir carefully.  
“I’m doing well enough,” replied the taller guard absent-mindedly twirling his moustache, “looking forward to this shift being over. I’ve been here for hours and developed this dreadful crick in my neck.”   
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you please tell me where I am?”  
At this the other guard took notice.   
“What do you mean where are you?” asked the man. He was far shorter than his compatriot, but about twice as muscley. He looked at Fakir with a suspicious look and his co-worker looked at him with an annoyed expression.   
“There we go again Michael. What’s with you recently? You have been suspicious of every single traveller who has come through here recently. You know we have never had any issues with travellers!”  
“I can’t help it David!” replied Michael, puffing up his chest, “It’s only been a few months since the prince returned to us! We can’t just go letting in every single traveller who comes up! We don’t know what he’s here for. For all you know he could be planning to murder us all! He looks suspicious David.”  
“Come on Michael. You’re being paranoid. He doesn’t look suspicious at all! He’s probably here to see the Prince and Princess come back from their travels like everyone else who’s passed through here today. And you weren’t paying attention! Just asked him what he was doing!”  
“You completely and absolutely did not David.”  
“It doesn’t matter any way Michael.” He turned to Fakir, twirling his moustache in an indignant fashion, “What are you here for traveller?”  
Fakir felt like he was caught in between something personal that he definitely shouldn’t be involved in.  
“I’m here to see the prince and princess return, just like you said. Just like everyone else!”  
“See Michael! Perfectly fine!” he turned once more to Fakir and bent down slightly, “You may go through!”   
“Fine David, but if we all are murdered except you and I, I know who I’m blaming for the hundreds of needless deaths, and you know what? It’s not this suspicious young man, it’ll be you!”  
Fakir walked through the gates as fast as he could to escape the tension between the two guards leaving them to bicker as they liked.  
On the other side of the gate was a city that looked far larger than GoldCrown. The walls disappeared into the distance on either side of him. In front of him sat row after row of houses and shops that rose up on a hill. Towering over all of it sat a large, majestic castle. The streets were filled with people wearing odd brightly coloured clothes. He felt out of place in such a large town, but figured that it would be best to seek out the prince and the princess the two guards had mentioned. Although it might seem odd asking them to help find a duck, at least he might be able to get his bearings in order to continue the search.   
He started up a street leading up the hill towards a castle, dodging people carrying goods and just going about their everyday lives.   
“Young man! You with the pony tail!”   
He felt a tap on his shoulder.  
Fakir turned around to see what the issue was. Standing in front of him was a large hare wearing a blue shirt and a pair of tweed trousers held up by a pair of leather suspenders. In his paw he held a large pile of leaflets, one of which he held out to Fakir.   
“Dear sir,” said the hare, his nose twitching with excitement, “Have you ever found that your home was missing a little extra something?”  
“Not particularly- “ began Fakir.  
“Or perhaps you felt a little chilly in your home? Coming up to these winter months anything to get a little more heat in, eh?” The hare elbowed Fakir’s side.  
“ What you really need is one of Harry’s carpets!” confidently exclaimed the hare, “Hand woven in the farthest east, imported by Harry for the express purpose of bringing joy and warmth to our little corner of the world!”  
“Oh, I’m not exactly from here,” said Fakir causing the hare’s early to prick up and his eyes to widen.  
“Oh! So you’re a traveller! Here to see the prince and princess no doubt! Then is it possible that you have a special someone back home you may want to bring back a souvenir for? Perhaps a parent, or even a girlfriend?”  
“I absolutely do not! Will you please let me go now? I have serious business to attend to!”  
The hare’s ears drooped a little, but he did not let Fakir’s words put him of a potential buyer.  
“But sir, oh sir! Our carpets are the most exquisite things that eyes have laid eyes on! I’m sure once you come into our shop you would see just how high quality, how soft to the feet, and how beautifully detailed our beautiful, magnificent beyond words carpets are!”  
Fakir scoffed and turned around to leave but the hare jumped in front of him blocking his way.  
“Would you not at least take a leaflet sir?” asked the hare, “I understand that you must be busy, a fine young man such as yourself, however, you may find yourself with a spare second or two, and there is no better way to spend your free time than admiring and shopping in my magnificent store.”  
The hare did not let Fakir answer, instead jumping up and stuffing a leaflet into his pocket before running off with a final “Remember to stop by Harry Hare’s Fantabulous and Fantastical Carpet and Rug Emporium!”.  
Fakir sighed and scratched the back of his head. Now that he had noticed it, in the crowd there were a good deal of animals walking on two legs, wearing clothes and talking to the other people walking around. He knew know for sure that he was inside yet another story, for after the original had ended all the animals either returned to humans or their original forms.  
A bell began to sound out and a large portion of the crowd split off and began hurrying up the hill. Fakir followed them after hearing several murmurs about the prince and princess.  
Eventually the crowd reached a large square in front of the castle. Fakir pushed as far to the front of the crowd as he could, ending up beside two goslings wearing little dresses with bows around their necks.   
“I hope I get to see the princess,” said one gosling to the other.  
“I heard that she’s really pretty!” replied the other to the first.  
“Wait! Here she comes!”  
The constant murmur of the crowd grew as they began to cheer. From another street emerged a large carriage pulled by two snow white horses. Fakir could barely see above the crowd and the two goslings beside him stretched out their little necks to try and see the carriage, but no matter how hard they tried they were far too small to see.   
Reminded of another waterfowl, he bent down and said to the two, “If you let me, I’ll carry you to the front so you can see better!”   
The two gosling looked at each other and gasped, “You would do that for us sir?” they asked their eyes shining.  
Fakir nodded and picked the two up carefully. He carefully shoved his way to the front of the crowd, a few people letting him move past when they saw the two children he was carrying.   
Eventually he broke to the front of the crowd and set the two children down right before the carriage moved past them.   
As the carriage passed he gasped with recognition. Leaning out of the window waving at the crowd were Mytho and Rue, dressed in royal attire and smiling at the cheering crowd.  
“It’s the princess!” squealed on of the goslings, “She’s just as pretty as everyone said she was!”  
Rue seemed to hear this and she turned around to try and spot the child who had said this. Instead her eyes locked onto Fakir and widened.  
“Fakir!”   
A/N for chapter 6  
I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I’m so pleased that I’ve gotten this far. The character’s are so much more fun to play with when they’re not just moping about and being super angsty. I am really looking forward to editing the angst so it actually makes sense though! And Rue’s actually in this now so looking forward to playing with the Fakir and Rue dynamic. They’re so fun! I loved writing Harry so expect to see a little more of him. This chapter was so long, I think this is more like the chapter length that I should be writing.


	8. Chapter 8

"Fakir!" cried Rue waving furiously.

"Fakir?" shouted Mythos a little confused.

"We can't stop, but come as soon as you possibly can," shouted Rue, sticking her head out of the window to keep Fakir in eye-sight as the carriage moved on.

Fakir was shocked to see them. But they were in the story were they not? Fakir gasped. Then that meant…

He was drawn out of his trance by the two goslings tapping on his leg trying to get his attention.

"You know the princess?" they asked jealously.

"Yes, apparently I do!" replied Fakir.

The crowd began to disperse as the carriage disappeared behind the castle gates. A pair of large white geese, one wearing a blue ribbon similar to the ones that the gosling's were wearing and a little apron with a blue floral pattern on it, the other wore a little top hat, and a bow tie as well as a coat that was peculiarly altered to accommodate his wings.

"There you are!" cried the mother goose, "We were worried sick about you!"

The two goslings ran up to them and began chattering incessantly.

"and that nice man, who knows the prince and the princess managed to help us get to the front of the crowd and you know what she did?"

"oh she waved at us Mummy and it was so special and it was so cool-"

The gander waddled awkwardly yet in a dignified manner towards, Fakir.

"Thank you good sir for looking after our girls. I hope they did not give you too much trouble?"

"Oh not at all," said Fakir, "They reminded me of someone I know."

The gander gave him a bit of an odd look, but turned to the girls and said, "Girls it's time to go! Thank the nice gentleman before we leave!"

"Oh thank you sir! Would you please give the princess this when you see her?" they asked, one of them holding out a large daisy they had been keeping in one of their dress pockets.

"I will make sure it gets to her." He said gently causing the girls to beam.

He watched the family waddle on their way down the hill and found himself doing something he had never really thought of before. He found himself wanting what that family of geese had. He wanted to get married, and have children. To go to bed every night knowing that he had put some good into the world, that he had people to love and that those people loved him back.

He found himself dreaming of living somewhere on the outskirts of town, beyond the walls, but still close enough to have Charon over for tea and to look after him when he got older. He would have a little garden, and maybe he would even build a greenhouse so he could grow fancier plants from warmer climes. He would work in his study during the day, perhaps outside when the weather was good, writing not to lift the burden of Drosselmeyer's evil of the shoulders of those affected by his story, but writing beautiful stories from his own mind without ever having to worry about them ever coming true. The study would be lined with bookshelves on every topic that caught his fancy and there would be two comfy chairs by the fire place. He would make dinner everyday, since his wife was a terrible cook and he would teach their children how to dance, and ride a horse and fence and how to help their grandfather at the smithy. And every night once the children were put to bed, he and Duck would either sit by the fire and he would read to her, like they did on the lake, or if the weather was clear they would dance together under the moon.

Fakir's cheeks turned red with horror once he realised what he was dreaming off. He didn't think of Duck in that way did he? That would be a terrible idea, it can't be true!

"It's not possible anyway!" something inside of Fakir screamed, "Even if you did like her in that way which I am sure you are not because it shouldn't be possible for you to be that stupid, she is a duck and it's time to face the music, she is not changing back!"

Fakir nodded vigorously to himself, "There are far more important thing's to be focussing on that are actually real problems!"

He pulled himself out of his trance and looked about himself. Most people had moved on with their business, and it was properly dark now. The streets were lit by warm coloured lamps and he could see a few lamp boys finishing up their jobs. Shops were beginning to close their doors and the few people left chatting were slowly but surely making their way over to a pub a few hundred yards away. He could hear the rowdy singing of the definitely not even slightly sober occupants from where he was standing.

He was almost half tempted to go and join the raucous, but told himself that that was a foolish idea and that he was not even the sort of person who would find that particular type of night good fun. It would be hard to have fun when do many important things were on his mind. For all he knew Duck could have been eaten by that fox from the other night, or trapped inside the inner mechanism of the story with Drosselmeyer. That image brought him crashing back down to reality. How could he even think of enjoying himself in such a useless manner when she was out there lost and alone? He was as much of an idiot as she was.

Instead of turning right to the pub, Fakir made his way determinedly towards the gates. To his surprise he recognised the two guards who stood in front of the gates.

"Hello, I'm here to see the prince and princess. I was invited in earlier by them and told to come as soon as was possible," said Fakir briskly, doing his best to not get caught in another argument between the two men.

The tall man whom Fakir vaguely remembered was called David yawned and stretched his arms.

"Say, didn't you just come in through the gates earlier today?" David asked before yawning again.

"Yes I was, but I'm really in an awful hurry so if you could please just let me in and maybe direct me to where I need to go, I would really appreciate it."

"What's this?" bellowed the shorter man, who Fakir believed was called Michael. "You were the suspicious man I did not want to let through earlier!"

He turned to David and shouted, "I knew it! He's a terrorist trying to assassinate our beloved highnesses! What do you have to say for yourself now David?"

David whined and said, "Michael will you keep quiet? I just want some rest! I wasn't expecting to have a double shift tonight! He's probably fine, he doesn't look dangerous to me."

Michael gasped, "I can not believe the sort of riff raff they are letting join the force these days! Really David I wish you took the safety of our wonderful monarch more seriously! He is literally carrying a sword!"

"Just ask the fellow what his name was will you? They said that someone was going to stop by tonight anyway. And everyone here carries a sword. It's just the done thing to do Mike."

"I asked you to never call me that!" shouted Michael, "Why do you never listen to anything I say?"

David did not reply as he had fallen asleep leaning against the wall.

"Absolutely useless! What was your name then?"

"My name is Fakir."

"Hmm." Michael checked a note from his pocket. "It checks out alright, but I'm keeping an eye on you. I still don't trust you, no matter what anyone says. I feel it in my guts!"

The man let Fakir past and set to work waking his tired co-worker.

The castle gates led into a huge hall that during the day must have been chaotic. A large unlit chandelier hung from the ornately painted ceiling. Fakir stood there for a second admiring his surroundings until he was approached by a young maid who looked to be around fifteen.

"Excuse me sir, but you wouldn't happen to be the Sir Fakir of Gold Crown would you?"

Fakir nodded in response and the girl grinned.

"Excellent! We were expecting you! To be honest we were all a little worried that you would not show up judging by how late you are but the Prince and the Princess will be so pleased that you are here! Oh my word! I am so sorry! That probably sounded a little rude didn't it?"

Fakir coughed and replied "Could you just show me where to go?"

"Of course! I'll bring you there right away! Just follow me!"

The girl began moving at an almost impossibly fast pace and Fakir had to run to keep up with her. They passed through a labyrinth of fancy halls and despite the girl's clumsy appearance she navigated through them with an ease that Fakir was jealous of. He was never very good at directions and was grateful to have someone to show him the way.

Eventually they stopped in front of a large solid wood door.

"They should all being well be waiting for you inside here sir!" said he maid before running on her way.

Fakir called out his thanks after her, but at the speed she was going at he doubted that she actually heard him. He closed his eyes held his head with one hand, shook it and sighed. He put his hand out to turn the knob of the door. He opened it and walked through into the next room.

He hardly had time to take the room in before he was ambushed with a hug from Mythos.

"Mythos?" his face blushed red for a second at the sudden physical contact.

Mythos pulled away with a beaming grin on his face.

"Fakir! It's so great to see you! I was not expecting you to turn up! It's been so long!"

Rue stood up from her seat beside the fire.

"Come and sit over here Fakir. Prince, I'm sure Fakir missed you but I think you might be crowding him a little."

Mythos turned to Rue with his mouth slightly open, "I'm not am I?" He turned back to Fakir and noticed how Fakir averted his eyes and how his cheeks were tinged red. Worried that he had upset his friend he apologised.

"Oh sorry Fakir!"

"Don't worry about it idiot." Replied Fakir making his way towards an empty seat beside Rue, "I'm glad to see you too."

The room they were in was a relatively small study. The walls were painted a royal navy colour and lined with large bookcases. Two small writing desks sat beside each other, simple yet elegant, in one corner of the room. The seats that Mythos, Rue and Fakir took up were large comfortable velvet lined seats that surrounded the fire. The fireplace was the most impressive item in the room. It was ornately carved with symmetrical swan and lily motifs on either side. A roaring fire was lit and surrounded by a fine leather fender seat. The resulting effect was a room that was relatively simple and humble for a royal study, but had an undeniable elegant comfort to it.

Fakir sat down for a minute before realising that Mythos and Rue were watching him expectantly. Mythos sat comfortably with his back upon the seat with his eyes fixed on Fakir, while Rue sat on the edge of her seat, tapping her foot impatiently and wringing her hands slightly and though her face was turned towards Fakir, he could see that she was watching the door out of the corner of her eye.

Eventually Mythos had enough of the silence, though he didn't notice the tension in the room.

"So Fakir how have you been? I'm so glad to see you!"

"I've been doing fine. I've graduated from school. I mostly just help Charon now."

"How is Charon? I've been a little worried about him!"

"He's doing fine. But he's getting older."

Rue began tapping her foot a little louder and faster.

"That's understandable. I'm so glad to hear he's doing okay though! You graduated, that's good! I hope you're still keeping it up! You were always a really fantastic dancer, it would be such a shame if you stopped!"

Fakir felt his heartbeat racing faster. It was awfully hot in the room.

"Actually, I haven't had much time to practice."

Here Rue impatiently cut in, with a slightly wobbly voice.

"Fakir, you haven't mentioned Duck yet? How is she? Is she with you?"

At this Fakir felt something that he had been doing best to keep damned up inside break. He could feel tears falling from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks, but no matter how he tried he couldn't stop crying. He let out an awful sob and buried his head in his hands, pulling slightly on his hair.

Mythos had no words, having never seen his close friend in such anguish before, but Rue had no such issue, having plenty to say concerning why Fakir was crying.

She lunged at him as a mother bear protecting her cubs, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

"Where is Duck Fakir?" she asked again worry pulling at the corners of her mouth and Fakir could feel her shivering.

"I don't know," admitted Fakir, "I promised to stay with her, but her wing, and the window and I told her to stay and the fox-"

"You're not making any sense!" interrupted Rue. "What happened?"

Mythos suddenly stood up and tried to get between his wife and his best friend.

"Stop it Rue! Can't you see you can't help her until we can find out what's wrong?"

At that most opportune moment, a servant who had heard the kerfuffle knocked upon the door and came in to the study when Mythos answered "Come in!"

"I heard an awful noise," said the man, "Is everything alright? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Mythos looked relieved.

"Yes there is Peter. We need a room for Sir Fakir to sleep in. He's very tired and emotional from his long journey. You wouldn't mind showing him to one would you?"

"Of course not your majesty! We set a room up for him the second that you said he was coming."

Mythos turned to Rue and put a hand on her shoulder. She released Fakir who numbly stood up and followed Peter out of the room.

When Fakir had left, Rue stood up and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, her hands wringing and her shoulders tense.

"Something awful has happened to her, I just know it!" She turned to Mythos, "How could you just let him go like that?"

Mythos looked at her, her eyes were wide with panic and her breathing was shallow and quick. He moved towards her but she flinched away and began to hug her arms towards herself. He stopped and instead sat down on a chair closer to her.

"I know that you are worried, I am too. Judging by Fakir's reaction, something bad happened, but we can't help her until we have the full story. You saw how Fakir was, he was in no state to tell us anything. He needs rest. In the morning we'll find out what has happened and make plans for what to do next."

"You're right, it's just-" Rue stopped and turned back to face him, "She was the first person who wanted to be my friend. Even when I fought against her, and used you to hurt her, she never stopped believing that there was good in me. She saved us all and I just don't want her to have to suffer anymore."

"I know." Mythos held his hand out. Rue hesitated before taking it.

"You need rest too. There is nothing we can do until the morning."

"I know, I'm worried though."

"I know."

A/N

So yeah, it's just Fakir in this chapter! Halfway through this I realised that I have accidentally put themes and things in this so now I actually need to put proper effort in here. I've also realised that Fakir's actions in the earlier chapters is not necessarily out of character after rewatching the first few episodes of the show, so now instead of just editing out ot put him in a more sympatheic light, I'm going to actually have to address it in the actual story which is fun. Oops. The pacing is really bad at the moment. I'm really looking forward to rewriting everything so it actually flows and reads like a story instead of something conjoured up by AI.

Also Mythos is so difficult to write and I think I might have accidentally changed the way I spell his name so oh dear I guess. And he's so hard to write! He has so little personality in the show, so I'm going to try basing him of the Siegfried from Swan Lake whom I suppose he sort of is? But like a version of him that is not a complete idiot.

Writing is so hard, but it's so fun when I actually manage to get myself into it.


	9. Chapter 9

Duck kept on moving through the forest, though her feet were beginning to get a little sore. Once again she came to a clearing, but this time instead of a small cottage there was a large building that towered above the trees. It somewhat resembled the school however was definitely unique in it's own way.

Duck ran up to one of the windows and peered in. Inside the building was a huge hall with large glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The hall was absolutely filled with cats of all colours and sizes. Each stood up on two legs. The men wore suits and top hats and the women wore flowing dresses. Some of them stood at the side of the hall, sipping some sort of drink out of champagne flutes and talking amongst themselves whereas the rest stood in two lines in the centre of the hall. One row of toms and the other of lady cats. In the corner a band began to play and each row bowed to the other.

It was at this moment that Duck's stomach began to growl just as she noticed a large long table set up with party food. She snuck around the corner and managed to find what looked like a front door. It was slightly open as two toms were outside smoking something that smelt dreadful. She decided to take her chance and duck snuck in to the building. It didn't take too long to find the hall where all the cats were thanks to the music. She ran up to the table when no one was looking and managed to grab some sort of fish pastry from it before ducking under the table cloth to eat.

The tune soon changed to a different one so she stuck her head out from under the table to see what was going on. The two rows of cats where back in their lines facing each other. They bowed to their partners across the way and then took their hands. They each moved together to twirl around clockwise once then anti clockwise. Then they moved back and held paws with the cats on either side in the line and each line moved forward as one then back in time to the music.

Duck tried to muffle a quack as Mr Cat, her old ballet instructor appeared, skipping down the aisle paw in paw with a beautiful white cat wearing a sparkling pink dress. They both went up and down the aisle in perfect synch then up once more when they broke off and skipped back to the position at the end of the aisle.

First Ebine then Mr Cat? She knew for a fact that he should be happy back in Gold Crown town, living his life as a normal cat with his mate and kittens. She had just seen him in the window of Mrs Binka, a sweet old lady who lived opposite of Fakir the other day. Yet there he was in front of her, dancing his heart out in a fantastical cat ceilidh.

She nibbled upon her pastry and watched the cats twirl as the reel playing grew faster and faster. A cat in the band played a peculiar fiddle altered to accommodate a cat's paw and his face was screwed up in concentration. Finally with three long final strokes of the bow, the dance was over and the dancers bowed to their partners and retired to their seats to rest and chat before the next dance. A few headed towards the table to get refreshments too, so Duck ducked back under the table cloth to avoid getting seen.

However it seemed like it was in vain as she heard the noise of someone else sneaking under the table. She turned around to see and began backing away slowly when she saw who had joined her. It was a small ginger kitten with incredibly fluffy fur that someone had clearly tried and failed to straighten out. He wore a blue bow tie around his neck dotted with a little pawprint pattern, and a little shirt with half the buttons undone. He honestly looked like he had been pulled backwards through a shuck a few times before being blow dried dry.

In his grubby paws he held a little china plate (decorated with blue fishes) that was overflowing with the different nibble from above them. He hadn't noticed Duck yet instead focusing on the big plate of snacks which he began shoving into his mouth.

Duck continued to back away but stopped whenever she noticed that the kitten was crying. She looked away for a minute as she contemplated what she should do, but eventually decided that the right thing to do was to see if and how she could help this little kitten.

She walked over to him and when he was too absorbed in eating to notice she let out a small quack and pecked him gently on his foot.

He looked up and said with a wobbly voice, "You're a duck!"

She nodded and sat down beside him.

The kitten didn't seem bothered or shocked to see that Duck clearly understood him, but Duck guessed that probably not much was strange to a walking, talking kitten in the middle of a fairy tale woods.

"I'm Winston," said the little kitten, "What's your name?"

Duck quacked in reply which Winston seemed to find terribly funny.

"Your name is Quack? That's a funny name!"

Duck wasn't too amused with her new nickname, however she was glad to see that the kitten seemed to be cheering up a little. When he reached out to pet her, she took care not to flinch away and let him.

"Would you like a biscuit? I think I took to many, Maisy said I need to not eat as much."

He took a biscuit from the plate and held it out to Duck. Admittedly she was still very hungry so she carefully pulled it out of his hand and began to peck at it.

As she ate Winston talked.

"You're really hungry! Me too. Biscuits are the best!"

He giggled, but looked up in horror when Mr Cat called out "Winston! Come here!"

Winston held one finger in front of his lips and said, "Shhh! He'll hear us!"

Duck stopped eating just in time as he picked her up and ran out from under the table. Duck could stand being petted, it actually felt quite nice, but she could not and would not stand for being carried about under arm like a rugby ball. As soon as the boy stopped, Duck squirmed free from his grasp and flapped down to the floor.

Winston ran back to the doorway and as quietly, but as quickly as he could he closed the door, and climbed under the bed.

"Come on Quack! Dad will find us if you stay there!"

Duck hurried under the bed. She got there just in time as Mr Cat stuck his head through the door and looked around the room. He clearly saw nothing as he turned back and Duck could hear him say, "He's not in there! Where else could that boy be?"

The two held their breaths until they could hear the door click shut once more. Duck let out a big sigh. When she looked to Winston she could see that tears had gathered in his eyes once more.

She wanted so much to ask what was wrong, but it was clear that the boy was not going to understand anything that she said.

"If Daddy finds me, he'll want me to dance," sobbed the boy rubbing his eyes with his paws.

Duck cocked her head at that questioningly.

Winston must have noticed because he continued, "I love to dance, but I'm so bad at it, Maisy told me so. She said it was because I was so fat and clumsy, and I want to make Daddy proud, but if I don't dance well, I don't think he'll love me anymore!"

At this Duck's heart began to break. She knew that that couldn't be true, but she did not know how to tell him this. She put a wing on his knee and looked up at him.

Then she had an idea. She was not sure about it in the least, and she hadn't done it in so long. She remembered Mr Cat's saying "Take a day off you will know, two days off and your peers will know, three days off and the audience will know," but shook it off. This kitten needed her help and this was the only way that she could possibly help him.

She shakily raised to the toes of her webbed feet and stretched out her wings above her, wincing a little when she felt the tightness come back. She made a small clockwise movement above her head, the mime for dancing, or at least the best she could do it.

The kitten looked at her in a funny manner.

"You can dance?," he asked incredulously, "But you're a duck Quack!"

She nodded and quacked once the affirmative, finding it quite difficult to maintain the position from the long break she took. He almost took her wing, but backed away, the fur on his head standing on end.

"I don't know Quack, I'm a really terrible dancer, I don't think you want to dance with me."

Duck looked into his eyes and suddenly she was back at Gold Crown academy in Mr Cat's ballet beginners class, being asked by Rue to dance a pas des deux with her in Mythos place. She remembered how vehemently she protested and how her friends had laughed at her predicament. She remembered how proud she was at the end of her performance when Fakir had clapped for her, and then how disappointed and hurt she was when Mr Cat took such delight in dropping her to the probationary class for seemingly no reason what so ever. She remembered how much she loved ballet, yet hated to dance because of how terrible she felt she must have looked to her peers. She knew exactly how this poor kitten felt.

Duck relaxed and then repeated the motion again while quacking this time. She was going to dance with him. It had been too long and this child needed help.

Hesitantly Winston took her wing into his paw and let her lead him into a clumsy pas de deux. If someone had walked into that room in that moment they would have been very confused as to what they were looking at but to the Duck and the kitten they felt as graceful as swans gliding across a lake, each putting their heart into their dance.

Duck, familiar with the many mistakes one could make while dancing as she had been corrected so many times herself was able to guide him through each part of the dance. There was no rhyme or rhythm to the dance, and it followed no structure to speak of. There were many moves that were physically impossible so they made up new ones that they could.

"I'm just so scared," admitted Winston as they danced, "Daddy is so good at dancing and I think he wants me to be that good too, but I don't think I can dance like he can."

Duck wasn't able to reply, but did her best to covey her answer through her dance.

"Your father loves to dance and I'm sure as long as you dance your best he will be proud of you because he loves you so much. You have no reason to be embarrassed, as long as you love to dance, people will be able to tell."

If only she was able to tell her past self this. That as long as she loved to dance and did her best that was all that mattered. Now that she was unable to dance in the same way as she could when she was a girl, she recognised how much time she had wasted worrying about things that in the end had often not mattered so much. It was always the moments when she let herself relax and dance the way she truly wanted that she felt the happiest and it hurt her heart thinking of all that she had missed out on because she let herself believe that she couldn't do something. Now the chance was over, and she would never be able to dance the same way again.

But at least she could still dance, she admitted to herself. She had let herself believe that just because she would never be able to take part in lessons or dance en pointe or dance in the particular way a human could that it was not worth continuing even though it had brought her so much sadness to stop. Even if she was fated to remain a simple duck forever, which she sincerely hoped she wasn't, it was at that second that she vowed to never quit dancing again.

She had to stop before long. Her wing began to twinge even when not fully stretched out, and a duck's stamina is no where near as great as a girls, but thankfully whenever she looked at Winston she could see that her plan had worked somewhat.

There was a confidence and determination in his eyes that had not been there before.

Winston's ear twitched as he heard his father walk down the hall and turn the knob to his room. Duck scooted back under the bed but was not joined by Winston. Instead when Mr Cat came into the room, he ran up to him and gave him a big hug around his waist.

Mr Cat bent down and said, "I was so worried, thank goodness that you are okay! Your sister told me what she told you and she apologised for all of it. Did you really think that I would stop loving you if you didn't dance well?"

Winston gave an embarrassed nod as Mr Cat pulled him in closer.

"You never worry about that! There is nothing that you can do that would make me stop loving you. I love the way that you dance because it reminds me of you and all the things that I love about you! And you're a beginner! Someday you might become an amazing dancer, and I know you have it in you, because when you dance, you dance with your heart. And if you are still very worried about how you dance do you know what you need to do?"

"Practice?" Winston asked.

"Exactly!"

Mr Cat picked his son up from the ground and tapped him on the nose.

"We're almost done for the night, do you want to join us for the last dance? You don't have to if you don't want to."

Winston threw his paws up into the air and shouted "Yes! I'd love to!"

And with that Mr Cat and his son left the room to re-join the crowd of cats that were gathered in the hall leaving the door slightly ajar. Duck, once she was sure the coast was clear, opened the door and made her way back outside. She waddled all the way around back to the large windows of the ball room.

Through the glass she could see Winston standing beside his father and the rest of his family. Another kitten approached him and seemed to be apologising to him for something. They seemed to make up as they gave each other a hug and ran off to join the rows of dancers paw in paw. It was a happy ending. Duck was glad. He deserved a happy ending.

She watched as the band led them through a Dashing White Sergeant that blended into a fast paced jig that made her feel dizzy just watching. It seemed like all was going well.

But something inside of Duck prompted her to scan through the crowd. At the side, beside the refreshments table clapping in time to the music stood the cat from Ebine's cottage, dressed in a top hat and a suit with a gold pocket watch chain hanging from it. Just as Duck was about to turn away and leave, his head turned to look straight at her with his piercing golden eyes. It seemed like time was about to stop. It definitely slowed down. The cat grinned a completely unnerving grin at Duck that sent shivers down her spine and her feathers to puff up in fear.

Without a second thought, Duck turned away and fled back into the forest, not even turning back to see the building fade back into mist.

A/N

Had a bit of an issue and got completely drawn into planning and character analysis while writing this chapter. I'm trying to write a little more consciously to make it easier to rewrite when it comes to it if you understand what I'm trying to say which you probably don't because I can barely English!

I'm really pleased with the concept of this particular chapter if not a hundred percent pleased with the actual execution. If anyone's reading this, I wonder if you can guess what sort of thing is going on in this Forest because I just figured it out a few chapters ago myself!

You might be thinking "Why would you be writing about a ceilidh when Princess Tutu is all about ballet?" and you are right! It's such a weird thing to include and I'm going to be honest with you and admit that it's because of how funny "cat ceilidh" sounds. Got to love that alliteration. It's partly also because I wanted a scene with lots of cats having craic dancing and no matter how brilliant ballet is I don't think it's the sort of thing ever done as like a party instead of a performance.

For anyone who can't picture what a ceilidh is, it's like the Scottish version of the dances in Pride and Prejudice. The main difference is that ceilidhs are much more craic, a lot of people go home absolutely of their rockers and at least one person is injured at the end. I play ceilidh music on the fiddle, but since they're not popular in my corner of the world I've never played for one before. Fun Fact! We don't have ceilidh's where I am because ministers began to preach that dancing was sinful and bad so to get around it people began to hold socials instead, a phenomenon that has continued to this day. A social is basically a ceilidh that turns the various dances into games. For example a popular game involves seats being placed in the centre of the room like in a bus where one end is closed off. Each person is paired with a partner and they cannot let go of their partners hand for the duration of the game. You start by sitting on a seat in the bus and when the music starts you get off of the seat and run around the bus clockwise. When the music stops you must run to get back into the bus through the opening and sit down. Each turn seats are taken away. If you don't sit down in time or let go of your partners hand you are out of the game. It's hilarious and can get quite violent.

This A/N is so long, sorry! My dad's a historian so I know a bit too much about the small bits of forgotten history of my country and like to talk about it too much


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